Escape from the League
by Dorryza
Summary: A certain group of champions are fighting to reach independence and freedom from the League of Legends. Will they make it? Only an idea at this point! Review please!
1. An Unwelcome Proposal

Alright, well this idea's been floating around for quite some time (ever since my Noct Lux segment for Relationships).

* * *

Another day. Another long day of summoning, fighting.

It never ended.

Lux sat down in her designated room in the Institute, completely exhausted and tired. The long day of fighting for Demacia's benefit- the long years, really- had worn out the once bubbly, cheerful blonde mage. The years of fighting had truly taken their toll. Lux was now the image of exhaustion, her once bright blonde hair now a dull straw-color; her face, once constantly adorned with an infectious smile, was now lined constantly lined with stress, now more often than not wearing a frown, due to the nonstop fighting and death on the Fields of Justice.

Lux looked up at the suite, and slowly walked towards the small kitchen in the corner of the room. Hollowly, she opened a cabinet, and pulled out a cooking knife. Lux turned it over repeatedly, studying it closely. It was stainless steel, slightly serrated. She debated putting it maybe, and ending the fighting once and for all- finally being able to sleep forever, never again to be woken at 6 to begin her day of battles, and death.

She slowly brought it up, face disturbingly hollow, envisioning the possibilities before her. It would be so easy- just one thrust, and it would be all over.

_Click_

The door to her suite opened. Lux quickly placed the knife on the table, leaving no evidence as to what she was just thinking as she quickly composed herself, giving out a half-hearted smile- hopefully fooling the person who'd just walked into her room.

A moment later, her smile grew true as she noticed who'd walked into her room.

* * *

Jarvan IV, Exemplar of Demacia, slowly walked towards Lux's quarters. He was quiet, thinking deeply about the coming conversation with the Lady of Luminosity.

Lux and Jarvan had been good friends since they were young. They'd first met when Jarvan had visited his childhood friend Garen. Once he reached the house, he'd met a sweet, carefree girl of 8 while he himself was 10, and they'd become good friends- and comrades, seeing as Lux's light magic had saved him from a Noxian weapon more than once.

But now this- this would change everything.

He stood outside Lux's door, quickly composing himself, before opening it with a soft _click_ and entering the room. He looked left first- there was an unoccupied couch sitting beside a window- now dark, seeing as it was quite late during the night. Jarvan's gaze swept right, and he was greeted with the sight of a gently smiling Lux.

The prince's heart was torn open as he looked at the worn out light mage. She already had faint stress lines at age 26, and looked absolutely exhausted- her hair was unkept, her clothes- disheveled.

Jarvan felt guilt well up in him yet again. After all, it was his wish that Lux remain in the League, and the result was this- this remnant, this tired, broken woman.

No doubt that the news now would absolutely destroy her.

* * *

As Jarvan was contemplating the woman in front of him, Lux spoke up quickly. "Jarvan… what brings you here?"

The prince quickly broke out of his reverie, clearing his throat awkwardly. "As you know," he began, "the crown prince needs heirs to continue the line."

Lux's eyes widened, as Jarvan continued. "My father thought it best if I marry quickly, and he ordered that it be with… you."

Lux closed her eyes. Her childhood playmate Jarvan- who was the only person she'd trusted before, the only person who she'd share secrets with, the only one who she could be herself around- now only wanted her for a child, a heir.

Suddenly realizing that Jarvan was still waiting anxiously for her answer, Lux just nodded slowly, turned around, and plodded her way to her bed.

* * *

Jarvan watched Lux's face as she heard his proposal. When she nodded, Jarvan nearly broke out into song- but that would be unfitting of a prince.

When she walked away, Jarvan at first thought that Lux was in shock, since she had just been asked to be married to a prince. However, deep inside, there was a sinking feeling.

That something was wrong.

Jarvan shook the feeling away like a dog shakes itself to rid itself of water, and let himself out of Lux's room, reminding himself that it was impolite to be in a lady's room uninvited.

He never heard the sobs that Lux let out the moment her door closed.

* * *

Tear tracks streaked down the light mage's face as thoughts chased each other around in Lux's mind like a dog chasing its own tail. What should she do?

She'd often regarded Jarvan as her only friend when she was young- her only sibling, Garen, cared more about the military than he did about her, and she'd never been able to make any friends when at school, due to her blistering pace of learning, and extreme magical power. The crown prince was, at times, the only human being who'd ever listened to her.

And now the man who she'd regarded as her only friend.

He'd just turned around, and regarded her as not a person, not an individual, but as a machine to bear children with.

Wasn't that exactly what she was to everyone? A convenient machine, a tool to get things done?

For her parents, she was a tool to further the honor of the family. For the academy, she was their poster child, the girl everyone strived to be like- and the whom girl everyone hated. For Demacia in general, she was nothing but a tool for greater information about Noxus- nevermind the fact that she was captured, tortured, and only just managed to escape- with no help from the country that got her into that situation in the first place. When she returned from that, she was 'volunteered' to go to the League, to fight for Demacia even more. And now, she was nothing but a child-bearer for the only man she once regarded as a friend.

She was tired of it. Tired of being their tool, their figurehead, their machine, their always-fighting soldier. Lux was sick and tired of it, sick and tired of waking up at 6 every morning to a day of slaughter and death.

She had to get out somehow. Any way, both from Demacia, and the League.

Her path was clear.

She had to escape from the League.

* * *

So what do you guys think? Is this idea worth pursuing?


	2. For Freedom

anon: No, this will not a continuation of my Lux/Noct part in Relationships. It will have more people (as evidenced by this), a larger story, and maybe a different outcome.

hellrapter: Rest assured, I will not add in any Lux/Noct pairing lol. Sometimes I just get pissed at Xavic for writing that damn thing -_-

So, yeah. I've decided to continue this, and here are some more intros- characters, motivations, etc.

Enjoy!

*disclaimer* I don't own the champions, League, Institute, blah blah blah. The only thing I own is the somewhat mediocre plot.

* * *

"_Hyah!"_

Brand grunted in concentration as he tossed up another pillar of flame to burn his enemies to a crisp. His summoner pushed him to the right, just dodging a bomb thrown at him by Ziggs. Brand responded with a massive fireball of his own, literally lighting the fuse of Zigg's massive bomb, and causing it to explode. A small white "spirit" escaped from the wreckage, to be revived at the fountain of his opponents.

Brand shook his head. Yes, he destroyed, but this wasn't the point. The point of his destruction- his purpose, was to destroy so the new could more easily oust the old. To allow new growth in the ashes in a fire, a chick rising from the smoking remnants of its phoenix mother. _That _was his purpose.

The 'Fields of Justice' were a perversion of the natural cycle- for it didn't matter how many fools Brand roasted, or how many times he destroyed with his cleansing flame- they always came back. How could one allow new growth, if the old growth refused to die?

Ah, the perfect example- the zombie Sion, who was now charging towards him.

First came a roaring wall of flame, as Brand lit Sion on fire. Then came a massive fire-infused ball, crackling with deadly intent, stunning the zombie right in its tracks, before one last pillar of flame burned it to a crisp, its spirit slowly rising out.

This- this thing, known as Sion- was a perversion of the cycle. It simply didn't die, even many decades after it should have. What should happen is that it would die, and other Noxians would take its place, either dying in turn, or earning glory and fame for themselves. But they were refused by the simple fact that it wouldn't die.

It was for reasons such as this that Brand came to Valoran in the first place- to burn the old, to allow space for the new.

And evidenced by the fact that both Ziggs, cackling as happily as ever, and Sion, as brutal and and powerful as ever, Brand knew something was wrong with his tenure here at the League. Nothing he could do here was really effective- nothing had a purpose here in the Institute. Those he burned, so the new might be able to spring from the ground, simply were revived, and kept on fighting.

This – ah, what was the human term- sealed the deal for Brand. He had to somehow actually kill people. However, the League's regulations put an end to that, after one too many brawls between Noxus and Demacia. And he simply couldn't leave the League- they were watching him, and were wary of him, who was the Salvation from Stagnation- who would help this world grow anew.

Therefore, his path was clear.

In order to accomplish his goal, and truly continue the cycle of life and death on Valoran, Brand had to escape from the League.

* * *

"Come one, just a few more-"

Ezreal was trying to wrestle a rather large tome from the grasp of a long-dead inhabitant of a tomb. He didn't want to disturb the tomb in any way, but he had to get that book. It contained magical secrets that had the capability of instantaneous transportation and eternal fonts of water and food! Half of the world's problems could be swept away at a moment's notice!. He just had to first extract the book from the dead mage's unrelenting grasp, while still avoiding the numerous traps scattered around the tomb, and avoiding disturbing the tomb, a newly discovered archaeological marvel.

It was, as one may surmise, quite a delicate operation.

Carefully prying the dead mage's hand off the book digit by digit, Ezreal slowly drew the book towards him, barely even daring to breath. He replaced a placebo book in the same place, for he'd memorized the posture of the skeleton, and didn't want it to change.

Now holding the book in a tight grasp, Ezreal slowly flipped past old, obsolete pages in the book, until he beheld the title: _**Fons Aeternus**_.

Ezreal allowed a moment of celebration, before slowly lowering his eyes to the massive wall of text detailing the complex spell. He read the first word, Ancient Shuriman for _leave_, before feeling that feeling well up again.

It started in his left hand, where the amulet allowing him to tap into his inner magic was wrapped around his wrist. A warm feeling then began to spread up his left arm, accompanied by a rapidly growing blue glow.

Suddenly realizing what was happening, Ezreal quickly looked to read more before the summoning spell destroyed the entire surrounding area.

He read the Shuriman word for _three_.

Before he was suddenly sucked out of the tomb, and into Summoner's Rift.

* * *

_Pant_. _Pant_.

Ezreal bent over desperately trying to draw air into his weary lungs. Where was Jarvan, with that damn- wait, this wasn't Summoner's Rift. The battle had finished, and Ezreal had been teleported away from the Field of Justice, and back to where he came from.

But as Ezreal took in the surroundings around him, he began to wish that he'd stayed at the bloody battleground.

Standing in the tomb, Ezreal simply stared. The once ornate walls were now scathed with harmful summoning magic, bearing deep, unrepairable gashes among the ancient stone. The mage's skeleton and attire were absolutely wrecked- one of Aracheology's greatest discoveries within the past century- annihilated.

Looking down, the Explorer saw the remnants of the book which had, just an hour ago, promised an end to so much death and sorrow in the world, an end to starvation.

It was now nothing but a pile of dust, with one legible word sticking out. _Leave_.

That word told Ezreal what he truly needed to do. Leave the institution that kept wrecking the places he excavated, to let him do what he wished, in peace.

Ezreal needed to find some way to escape the summonings of the League.


	3. Death without Purpose

It had almost been a year now. A year since he'd joined the League.

The reason he'd joined wasn't normal. It wasn't simply to fight, like some. It wasn't for the glory of one's country, like several others. _His_ reason was for something else.

Talon sighed as he waited in a bush, ready to ambush any unwary enemies. His thoughts were cut short as the summoner in control of him forced him to toss out several daggers, quickly accumulating in the cloth and leather armor of Jax.

Jax quickly took two steps forward, his odd mouth mask parting for him to spit out the beginnings of a sentence, "The cha-"

But Talon had already moved, with blinding agility, behind the 'Grandmaster', and drew his arm blade across opponent's throat, stopping Jax's words in an instant.

He then pulled his blade back for just a moment, before plunging it viciously into Jax's kidney, before viciously ripping it out. The result was a massive wound in Jax's stomach, all the way through his back.

The Grandmaster quickly began spinning his lamppost, blocking any further attacks by Talon, before limping to his turret and sitting down, a hand over his stomach wound to try and stem the flow of blood. The blue of recall appeared around the wounded warrior.

_Keep going!_ Talon's summoner urged him. _He's almost down!_

_No, there's-_ the assassin's thoughts were roughly cut off.

Talon found himself walking forwards, taking jerky steps. He tossed a dagger from his rapidly diminishing stock.

He hadn't told his hand to move.

Another step now- and the tower was charging up.

Another step.

Jax saw the assassin, and slowly started to back away, holding his lamppost out in a futile attempt to block the blade that would end him.

Talon took another step. The tower bolt was on its way now, and the assassin was still walking forwards. Why the hell was he still walking forwards?

_Tchuuu_.

The turret spat out a bolt of pure energy. His cloak was shredded instantly, and Talon's left arm took the brunt of the attack, causing a jolt of pain to jump up to his head. Yet he was still moving forwards. Why?

Another step. The turret began to charge up energy yet again.

Yet another step. Jax was now directly ahead of him, still scrabbling in the dirt for some purchase of some sort.

Again, Talon had the odd feeling of being manipulated like a doll, not doing, but still feeling. His right arm plunged forwards.

Jax let out a small groan, before letting go of his lamppost. One final sigh escaped his lips before he slumped over on the ground.

But now Talon was extremely weak. His entire left arm was simultaneously numb and throbbing with pain. His right leg, which Jax had hit earlier in the fight with a surprise thrust of his lamppost, could not support his weight.

_Tchuu_.

The tower spat out another bolt.

Talon watched as the purple bolt of energy flew towards him, giving off magic sparks as it came closer to him.

_Why am I even_-

Talon's thoughts were cut off again. But this time, it wasn't due to the influence of a summoner.

It was due to the fact that he was dead.

Talon sighed inwardly. He actually hated it here. The killing, the dying, it all had to have a purpose. That was what he was trained to think as an assassin. It might be gory and gritty, the death that he dealt out, but it was necessary.

But that was not so here. Here, summoners simply ordered him to kill, or to die-

And whether or not he agreed, he was forced to.

But why was he here then?

The answer was simple, as it was every time Talon was forced to kill, and to die. To help find General Ducoteau.

But Talon thought back to the Journal of Justice article he'd read just a few hours before the battle. In it, the general himself had laid out a series of clues implicating the League in the recent Kalamanda disaster.

Finally, everything was clear to Talon. It didn't matter how many times he died or killed while on a Field of Justice, the General and the Institute were at odds now. The institute would never actually help Talon in his goals, because they would prefer General Ducoteau to simply vanish, and never appear again.

But Talon then repeated the question. Why was he here?

The answer was that he really didn't know now. He had no purpose other than to find the General, and the Institute wouldn't help him in that.

So why was he still here, killing and dying for no reason?

Because the Institute had already bound him to them, so that they could summon him at any time. And resistance was futile- they could just take direct control of his body- like his summoner had just done- and he wouldn't even be able to direct his own attacks.

Therefore, the answer was clear to Talon. There was no reason to stay, and it was against his own beliefs to stay without reason. But the Institute wasn't going to just let him walk out- he was far too valuable as one of their pet 'champions'.

No, but he still had to leave somehow.

Talon had to escape from the League.

* * *

Alright guys, sorry for the long hiatus.

Firstly, I'm not dead! yay! I just have had a busy few weeks- finals, graduation, _work_, etc. But I am still alive, and still is this story! So keep watching for more stuff!

Also, sorry if this is kind of boring so far, I just want to get the squad out first. I promise, I've got a plan as to what to do, and you'll all get some action soon =D

Oh yeah, that disclaimer. I don't own the Institute, the League, any of the champs blah blah blah. The only thing I own is the (decent, hopefully) idea and plot.

-Dorryza


End file.
